I would also argue that the main reason the computer programming
stack exchange is so successful is that around 98% of the time, the
question actually has an answer. In the case of a cognitive science
stack exchange, I would guess the percentages are just about
reversed.

Tuesday, December 15, 2015

There is a widespread misunderstanding, common among laypeople and
many academicians too, that genius is the equivalent of great
intelligence. This can be seen for instance in the tendency to
categorize high IQ scores, such as those above 150, as falling within
a genius range, and reciprocally it can be seen in the anachronistic
practice of doling out impressive IQ scores—usually in the
neighborhood of 200 or so—to well-established geniuses such as
Mozart and Newton. To be fair, many researchers recognize that the
possession of a high IQ is not sufficient to establish genius, that
other factors must also be brought to bear. Creativity frequently
gets mentioned as a necessary concomitant to genius, and others have
noted the tendency towards aloofness and oddity that many geniuses
seem to exude. Still, it is hard not to conceive a direct
relationship between genius and greater intelligence—in many
respects the relationship seems so blatantly obvious—and in this
age of the Flynn effect, where intelligence is everywhere measurably
on the rise, it is becoming something of a puzzle as to why genius is
not blossoming around every corner, indeed why it has almost entirely
disappeared.

The irony here is that there is a direct relationship
between genius and greater intelligence—the blatantly obvious turns
out in this case to be actually true—and yet this direct
relationship remains entirely misapprehended. The trouble lies
perhaps not so much with the concept of genius itself, a concept that
remains fluid enough to still be amended. The trouble lies more
fundamentally with the concept of intelligence, a concept that has
now hardened into intransigent dogma. Humanity thoroughly
misunderstands what intelligence is, and thus in turn, it thoroughly
misunderstands what genius is.

Intelligence is a neural activity, it is what humans produce
inside their evolutionarily superior brain—no statement it would
seem is in less dispute. When humans applaud a high IQ score (and in
the same breath applaud genius), they are paying homage to the
activities of someone's brain, they are giving due to an example of
neural excellence. People are born smart, everyone surely
knows that by now, and if someone has managed to improve their
intelligence through education or some other means, it is because
they have rewired the intricate workings inside their skull, they
have leaned heavily on that marvelous and practically miraculous
concept known as neural plasticity. In the same way that
weightlifters harvest the strength of their over-sized muscles,
intelligent thinkers brandish the power of their super-connected
neurons. This has become the unquestioned dogma of the land.

Like other well-entrenched dogmatic mistakes, this one began
honestly enough with a grain of truth. That there exist natural
intelligence differences from person to person would have been
apparent even before the dawn of civilization, and now with the
advent of intelligence exams and psychometric analysis, these
observable distinctions have not only been experimentally confirmed,
they have also been broadly linked to genetic and neurological
foundations. So the brain certainly plays an important role in human
intelligence, of that there can be no doubt. But that the brain plays
the entire role in human intelligence, or even the most
significant role—well, that is something that could have
been doubted from the very beginning.

The first indication that intelligence cannot be explained by
human neurology alone is the Flynn effect, the observation that
intelligence scores have been increasing population wide since first
being measured (and by logical extension, probably long before that).
If intelligence is entirely a brain-based neurological activity, then
the Flynn effect strongly implies that human neurology must be
rapidly and tangibly changing, becoming physically and substantially
more effective with each generation. Scientists of course hesitate
before such a notion, because it defies every known characteristic of
biology, genetics and evolution. As an alternative, scientists offer
up other explanations—a grand plethora of other
explanations—designed to bridge the seemingly insurmountable gap
between biology and observation. Heterosis, better nutrition, social
multipliers, video games, increased schooling, test familiarity, fast
and slow life—just about everything except the kitchen sink has
been guessed so far, and in one final desperate all-encompassing
guess, the suggestion has been put forth that the Flynn effect is in
fact caused by all of the above, working in some kind of orgiastic
combination. But despite the twisting and turning about, not one of
these efforts has proven to be even remotely plausible or the
slightest bit convincing, and thus the Flynn effect is now awaiting
an inevitability, awaiting that moment when scientists finally tire
of banging their heads against a wall. The unavoidable fact is this:
the Flynn effect is incompatible with an entirely neurological human
intelligence, meaning that ultimately one of those two concepts must
go. And the Flynn effect of course is an observation, while an
entirely neurological human intelligence is merely a prejudice.

Plus it is more than just the Flynn effect that votes a resounding
nay against the notion of a brain-based intelligence. Genius too is
utterly incompatible with the concept. Because if intelligence really
were exclusively a brain-based neurological activity, then the common
wisdom regarding genius would of necessity be true, genius would
consistently belong to the domain of those with the most effective
neural structures, and in this era of an ever increasing
intelligence, genius would now be as plentiful as springtime rain.
The continuing allure of this common wisdom speaks volumes about the
ongoing and widespread acceptance of a brain-based intelligence, but
the observable and obvious inaccuracy of this common wisdom speaks
volumes about the blindness of that acceptance. The
non-equivalence of genius and high intelligence has always been a
puzzle, as puzzling in fact as the Flynn effect, and it is a puzzle
that stems from the exact same root. The characteristics of genius
simply do not fit to the characteristics of an entirely neurological
human intelligence, meaning that ultimately one of those two concepts
must go. And the characteristics of genius are derived from
observation, while an entirely neurological human intelligence is
merely a prejudice.

This author has detailed elsewhere a description of intelligence
that rejects any primary reliance upon a brain-based, neurological
foundation. In this new description, intelligence is defined quite
literally as the amount of pattern, structure and form tangibly
contained within the human environment. The network of highways, the
symmetry of buildings, the repetition of clocks, the arrangement of
letters on a page—all this and so much more—these mostly
artificial environmental features constitute the material substance
of intelligence itself, directly observable, directly measurable,
directly defined. Intelligence palpably exists around a human,
it does not exist primarily inside his head. Humans of course differ
in their ability to absorb and respond to this surrounding
intelligence, a difference that shows up quite nicely on the relative
scores of an IQ exam, a difference with genetic and neural basis. But
the overall level of human intelligence is not determined by
individual abilities, the overall level of intelligence has nothing
to do with the human brain. Human intelligence grows via the concrete
addition of pattern, structure and form into the human environment,
and this physical accretion of intelligence is the direct source, the
direct driver, the direct cause, of the Flynn effect.

Plus this new description of intelligence provides more than just
an accounting of the Flynn effect, it also produces a straightforward
and observable definition of genius. Accumulation of intelligence
into the human environment does not happen magically; in order for
new intelligence to accrue within the human surroundings something
must put it there. A large portion of this accretion can be
accomplished via replication, by copying the already existent
pattern, structure and form from one context into another.
Blueprints, books, education, communication, plus a myriad of other
means—all these serve to take the intelligence already embodied
within the environment and then spread it further around. But
replication can only go so far; if intelligence is to continue to
grow, then novel pattern, structure and form must eventually
be introduced. And while replication can be achieved by almost anyone
(it is humanity's greatest shared activity), the introduction of
novel intelligence is an activity exceptionally rare. No other animal
species has managed to construct new intelligence within its own
environment, and humans themselves did not do so for a very long
time. What is required for this unusual feat is an individual with an
exceptionally unusual eye, an individual with the ability and
inclination to perceive the world not as it already is and not as
others already perceive it, but to perceive the world quite
differently from everyone else, to cast the world into a whole new
paradigm. And when these anomalous perceptions have been promulgated
far enough, after they have been copied a sufficient enough times, as
they significantly increase the overall amount of pattern, structure
and form contained within the human environment—that is to say, as
they significantly increase the overall level of human
intelligence—then the source of these catalyzing perceptions is
finally recognized, often very much in retrospect, and the
originating individual is given the name he or she most accurately
deserves, is given the name of genius.

In short, genius is the unforeseen spark that fires the Flynn
effect.

One of the first characteristics to recognize about individual
genius is that it does not require superior intellectual ability;
genius requires only a sufficient understanding of the domain of
interest. A high IQ in fact mostly hinders genius, because superior
intelligence implies superior command of the pattern, structure and
form already contained within the environment, but this
superior command can easily obscure any perception of intelligence as
it might possibly be. The individual genius is more apt to
possess an uneven or contrarian intelligence profile, as though there
is some degree of confusion or dissatisfaction with conventional
answers.

An even more telling characteristic of genius is its deep
fascination with non-biological pattern, structure and form—the
material substance of intelligence itself—a fascination often
bordering on the aberrant. This characteristic already establishes
the rarity of genius, because for the vast majority of the human
population, the primary focus is not on non-biological pattern,
structure and form; for the vast majority of the human population,
the primary focus is on other people. This is in keeping with the
powerful hold that biological perception and conspecific awareness
have upon nearly every animal organism, a hold that is entirely
essential to survival and procreation but is effectively blinding to
the possibilities of new intelligence. The individual genius is one
who has been loosened from this conspecific grip and who in
compensation has turned hungrily towards the structural details of
the external world. This perceptual mismatch between the individual
genius and the remainder of humanity explains in large measure the
oft-mentioned secondary traits of genius: iconoclastic, abrasive,
aloof, a little bit strange. The individual genius simply does not
perceive the world as does everyone else—genius and humanity are
fundamentally at odds.

The characteristics of genius align closely to the characteristics
of the condition known as autism. In each case, these are individuals
conspecifically distanced from the remainder of the population. In
each case, these are individuals focused primarily on non-biological
pattern, structure and form (not focused primarily on other people).
In each case, these are individuals often misunderstood and
frequently disdained by conventional wisdom. For those who have
callously written off the autistic population, including nearly the
entire research and scientific community, the alignment of genius and
autism must seem nothing short of outrageous. But the observable
characteristics speak for themselves, characteristics that align with
typicality hardly at all.

The retrospective acclaim that attaches to genius is perhaps its
most ironic feature. Although genius truly earns and deserves all its
recognition, it is not because there is always something exclusive or
essential about the ingenious act. In a context of accruing
intelligence, nearly every moment of genius is a discovery destined
to be made sooner or later anyway. Take Newton for instance: if
Newton had not returned home in his twenty-third year but instead had
traveled to London and therein succumbed to the Great Plague, it does
not mean that the differential calculus, the laws of motion and the
theory of gravitation would have never seen the light of day. Other
individuals of eccentric perception would have eventually promoted
these notions, and today such individuals would be heralded as
genius. As far as is known, there might have been several
predecessors to Newton all capable of the exact same feats, but who
through unfortunate circumstance never gained the opportunity.

The more authentic reason to celebrate genius is that it is an act
of individual defiance and individual courage. All the approbation
showered on genius is done so from the safety of retrospective time.
At its moment of birth, novel intelligence always cuts against the
common grain and gathers no immediate stamp of approval. What novel
intelligence usually garners is a heaping dose of neglect, scorn and
derision, because humanity is content with what it already knows,
feels the safest with what it can perceive in unison—each revision
is an unwelcome intruder. To bring pristine pattern, structure and
form into the human environment, the individual genius must weather a
storm of rebukes from without and a flood of doubts from within; the
introduction of new intelligence is one of the loneliest acts
imaginable.

This past century has seen a grand scale movement to accommodate
genius to a much broader population. Perhaps motivated by the
retrospective acclaim, and certainly unaware of the requisite
isolation, humanity has been pooling its efforts in an attempt to
distill genius's indispensable merits into dispensable recipe.
Scientific method and artistic technique have emerged as the
templates of choice, and the academic institutions, once home to the
most bizarre and misanthropic of creatures, now attract gregarious
millions, each eager to play a role in the next great discovery.
Optimism is announced daily by press release, pending results form
the backbone of nearly every grant proposal, but there is a silence
now surrounding the din of these swelling universities, it is the
silence of genius having walked away from these overcrowded academic
halls.

The ever more tightly prescribed requirements of scientific method
have led to all too predictable results, a tidal-wave of bland
minutiae, more monotonous and more dogmatic with each publication.
The increasingly rote specifications of artistic technique have led
to similarly predictable results, an avalanche of trivial art for
trivial art's sake, more self-conscious and more self-congratulatory
with each debut. Having pooled their efforts to be part of something
intelligently grand, today's university denizens find themselves
herded along in an increasingly frantic push for more: more
requirements, more specifications, more standards, more ethics, more
committees, more peers, more reviews, more co-authors, more
citations, more statistics, more funding, more methods, more
techniques. Everyone must stick together, everyone must follow the
routine, and if all just play their role as specified, then the
promise of genius can flow forth like manna and honey, flow forth as
the combined product of everyone's evolutionarily superior brain.

The grand scale movement has turned into a music hall comedy, full
of bathos and farce.

Genius attaches to individuals, it does not arise from groups.
Genius appears only in those who have mastered that rarest
characteristic of all, the willingness to dare to go it alone.
Although scientific method and artistic technique will always have
their place, as tools in the massive replication
of intelligence—still the honorable work of all
mankind—nonetheless, scientific method and artistic technique
cannot inspire genius. And as the academic institutions become
increasingly shoulder to shoulder, as they sink further into a
slavedom of prescribed routine, expect the individual genius to
continue to hasten away. Expect the next great discovery to come from
someplace unexpected.